


There is a destiny that makes us brothers

by Lakritzwolf



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Crixus/Naevia - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Past Castus/Nasir, Prostitution, Reincarnation, Spartacus/Sura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-06 05:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14635443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: RAF pilot Agron Wolf-Thomson, a bachelor living alone in Inverness, doesn’t like to admit how lonely he is after his partner was shot down a year ago.Nasir Abadi, who ran away from his foster home at the age of thirteen, has been living on the streets, selling his body and being a drug runner for a gang of dealers.When the two meet on a cold autumn day, they discover feelings and shadows of memories that they can’t explain, that frighten them, but that draw them to each other despite themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the poem "A Creed" by Edwin Markham  
>  _There is a destiny that makes us brothers_  
>  _None goes his way alone_  
>  _All that we send into the lives of others_  
>  _Comes back into our own_  
>  _I care not what his temples or his creeds_  
>  _One thing holds firm and fast_  
>  _That into his fateful heap of days and deeds_  
>  _The soul of man is cast_

It was cold and drizzly and no one in their right mind was outside on a day like this, but Agron couldn’t stand the sight of his own walls, so he was sitting on a bench at the Ness Banks and stared at the greens before him. He had read the sign ‘Ness Islands’ about a million times now, and he lit himself another smoke.

He should be home instead of catching a cold in this weather. The lighter clicked a few times before it cooperated. He also should stop smoking.

Agron exhaled a long, slow cloud and closed his eyes.

It didn’t make a difference if he was out here or at home. The TV or the internet did as little to distract him as sitting miserable in the cold drizzle did. He didn’t even know why he was sitting out here feeling miserable when he could be miserable at home and be warm and dry while he did so.

Maybe because being at home gave him cabin fever. Maybe being out here and having the occasional human being walk past somewhere gave him the illusion of not being so alone.

He could go to Kent, of course. His brother would understand what he felt like and why he was feeling like this. Yes, maybe Kent was a good idea. Inverness was depressing enough as it was. He should have asked to be transferred from Lossiemouth to somewhere further south a long time ago.

Yes, he should start thinking about moving to Kent, to be closer to his family. It wouldn’t do anything about the memories of his comrades getting riddled with bullets, or shot out of the sky, but he would have someone who would fucking understand him.

Agron got up, flicked the butt end away and ground it under his heel. He hesitated only for a moment though before he picked it up again to throw it into the nearest bin.

He stretched and arched his back while watching an elderly lady trying to navigate three little dogs on leashes who milled all around her. Agron would never understand why someone would surround themselves with these ugly little ankle biters instead of a real dog. He would have loved to have a dog, but with him being regularly on deployments, it would have been just mean to the animal to give it to a shelter for more than half of the time.

A few teenage girls passed him by and didn’t grace him with a look, all of them engrossed in their phone screens. The few inquisitive pigeons that had surrounded him now retreated.

Agron fought the urge only for a moment before he took the pack of cigarette again. Home, shower, food, and then maybe give Duro and his mother a call if he could come over for the weekend. A wry smile tugged at his lips. His mother would scold him for even asking that.

As he headed towards home along the banks of the River Ness, after his mind had been made up, he could see someone heading into his direction. A teenage boy by the look of it, wearing a large backpack.

But as he got closer Agron could see the ratty clothes, the jacket that seemed to have a broken zipper because why would anyone run around with an open jacket in this weather, and he also could see that the backpack had seen better days a long time ago. He was wearing a knitted beanie and a scarf of fabric so thin it couldn’t provide much warmth.

Fuck, he was in no mind to deal with a begging hobo.

On the other hand, he thought as he looked up again, here was someone who was even more miserable than Agron was.

“Excuse me Sir, would you have a bit of change?”

It was a slightly husky tenor voice, and by now, this close, Agron could see that he wasn’t a boy at all. He was just small and of slight build, but definitely in his early twenties, at least.

“Sorry, mate,” he said, because he really didn’t have any change. “I don’t have any change, and I kind of don’t fancy handing you a twenty pound note.” He shrugged with an apologetic smile, and then, on an impulse, took out his pack of cigarettes.

“Smoke?”

“Cheers.” The hobo took one and Agron produced his lighter.

The look on the other man’s face told Agron that he had been craving a smoke for a while now. Another impulse, and he held out the pack to him after slipping the lighter inside.

“Here. I should stop anyway.”

The younger man gave him a slightly distrustful look, but when Agron held out the pack again he took it and pocketed it faster than Agron could look.

“Thanks.” He took another drag of his smoke.

Agron nodded, shoved his hands into his pocket and walked away. He didn’t know what made him turn around again.

The hobo had reached the bench Agron had been sitting on and now peeked into the bin.

_Oh fuck, please don’t let him look for food..._

He looked up again as if he had heard Agron’s words, and when he realised Agron was watching him he dropped his head, hunched his shoulders and turned away.

You didn’t have much pride left if you had to eat other people’s trash, but the young man hadn’t sunken low enough yet that he didn’t care.

Agron wasn’t a do-gooder but he wasn’t a heartless ass either, and realised that here was a guy he could help, maybe make a difference, even if just for a moment. He still didn’t want to give him money, but maybe he could do something else.

“Hey,” he called out and followed the other man. “Hang on!”

Hunching his shoulders even more, the other man stopped and slowly turned around.

“Sorry, I really don’t have any change but...” Agron cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?”

The young hobo avoided his eyes with a shrug.

“I could... you know...” Agron cleared his throat again. “I could buy you some food if you want.”

Agron could see hope and distrust battle in the young man’s eyes. They were of a dark brown, and his face would have been very handsome if it hadn’t been so haggard, without the shadows under his eyes and the haunted look in them.

Eventually, he nodded.

“Come on,” Agron said with a twitch of his head. “My favourite chippie is practically around the corner.”

His hands deeply in his pockets the young man followed Agron, trailing two or three steps behind, until they reached the House of Batiatus. Sometimes Agron felt sorry for that man too, an immigrant from Italy who had been trying to make it big with an upper-class restaurant here, but had failed utterly. Now he was stuck with fish & chips and sausages and pizza, while still clinging to the name of his dream. It was a bit pathetic, really, but he made some mean fish & chips and amazing pizza, and Agron was a regular.

“Quintus!” He yelled over the frantic ringing of the small doorbell.

Quintus behind the counter waved at him, while his wife was restocking the fridge with the soft drinks and didn’t grace him with a single look.

“What can I do you for, Agron?”

Agron turned towards the young man who had entered behind him and gestured towards one of the two small tables in the corner. Then he turned back to Quintus.

“The usual, and one plus size with extra chips. And two cokes.”

“Coming right up!”

Agron helped himself to two cans of coke from the drinks fridge and sat down at the table opposite the young hobo. He had slunk behind the table like a schoolboy expecting a harangue in the principal’s office, and was now looking at his hands while picking at the threadbare cuffs of his jacket.

After putting down the can of coke in front of the young man Agron opened his and took a sip. “So, what’s your name then, little man?”

Said little man looked up at him, and for a moment there was a gust of fire flickering in his eyes before he stared at the table again. “Nasir.”

“Okay, and where’s that name from? Just curious.”

Nasir didn’t look up again. “Syria.”

“Hmm.”

That depleted Agron’s conversation topics as ‘how long have you been a hobo’ or ‘what kind of drugs do you do’ or ‘when was the last time you took a shower’ weren’t really an option.

The young man – Nasir – now hesitantly reached for the coke and opened it. He hesitated for another moment before taking a sip, and he closed his eyes in what seemed like bliss before pouring almost half the can down his throat.

Time passed in somewhat uncomfortable silence in which Agron listened to Quintus puttering about behind the counter, while staring out of the window at the cars and pedestrians on Academy Street. He really wanted to start a conversation with the other man, but Nasir was still totally closed off and looked more and more as if he regretted his decision. Maybe the food would take care of that.

Quintus put the two plates onto the counter shortly after, and Agron got up to get them with a nod.

Nasir eyed the food with slowly widening eyes, his fingers twitching.

“Dig in,” Agron said and picked up one of his chips. “It’s good. I come here all the time.”

It took him a moment, but eventually the younger man reached out and took one of the chips. They were still a bit hot, but after the first bite, the speed with which he ate accelerated. Agron busied himself with his own plate, pretending not to notice how Nasir wolfed down the food. He knew how it felt to be hungry, the kind of hungry when you had to skip a meal or two. But this, not having eaten properly for fuck knows how long and not knowing when you will be able to again, was something he didn’t like to think about.

Halfway through the mountain of food – you could say about Batiatus what you want, but his food was good and the portions substantial – Nasir slowed down somewhat, and when he picked up his coke to discover it was empty, Agron wordlessly got up and got him another one.

Agron would have spent more than the twenty pound he hadn’t wanted to give him at this rate, but he felt better than if he might have spent it on drugs or booze. Or that’s what he wanted to think.

Eventually the plates were empty, and since there was no reason to stay, Agron left again, the homeless Syrian in tow. It took him a few steps to realise that the young man was following him, and he sighed inwardly and tried to think of how to send him on his way without being rude. But when he turned around, he found Nasir with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and in general, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else than at Agron’s heel.

Habitually, Agron reached for his breast pocket, to discover it empty. Right, his smokes had recently changed ownership. He cleared his throat.

Nasir looked up, for a second, before staring at his feet again.

“What are you doing?” Agron asked.

“I am going with you?” Nasir gave back, guarded and mildly puzzled.

“I can see that,” Agron replied. “But why?”

The guarded look vanished and gave way to utter confusion. “Because…” Nasir nervously licked his lips.

“Because what?” Agron crossed his arms.

“Because…” Nasir sucked at his lip. “You bought me food and I…”

Quite suddenly, Agron saw daylight. And he couldn’t say he liked what he saw.

“No,” he said after sorting his thoughts. “I didn't do it to… you know. I wanted to… help. Make it a bit easier for you. Even just for a moment. I don’t want anything. I don’t need anything.”

Nasir looked at him with widening eyes. Agron looked back, and something in those eyes, now that the guarded, almost frightened look was momentarily gone, touched something deep inside him. Those eyes were beautiful, and for a heartbeat Agron wanted to grab Nasir’s hand and take him home after all, but not to use him but to give him a bath and warm clothes, and to feed him and put him into the spare bedroom to sleep. To watch over him. To let no one touch him, ever again.

He didn’t realise at first that Nasir looked at him like he had seen him for the very first time as well.

A seagull hollered from a roof and broke the spell, and Nasir hunched his shoulders again. “Thanks for the food,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome.” Agron cleared his throat again. “I could… I don’t know, if it helps I could talk to Quintus. You can... go there, get yourself a bite every now and then. Quintus keeps a tab, and I’ll pay it next time I’m there.”

Nasir took a deep breath, but when he looked up again, his eyes were hard. “And then? What do you think happens then? What do you think the others will say when I just go and get food? How many times do you think they’re gonna watch it? How many times will they send me to get something for them?”

“I just wanted to help!” Agron replied, frustrated that his offer was rebuked like that. He hadn’t really expected Nasir to accept, but he felt he could have been a bit more civilised about it.

Nasir immediately looked away as Agron raised his voice. He hunched his shoulders again, and his voice went back to being low and meek again when he spoke.

“I’m sorry. You did help. But you can’t help any more.” He shoved his hands into his pockets again. “Thank you for the food,” he said hastily, turned around and walked away as fast as he could without running.

Agron cursed under his breath and reached for his pocket again. Trying to give up smoking quite obviously seemed to be a hopeless undertaking.

Still shaking his head he went his own way, but made a detour via the newspaper kiosk at the station. He didn’t even try to feel remorse and bought two packs of cigarettes as well as a new lighter, and smoking furiously, he made his way home.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, Agron had spent the weekend in Kent with his mother and his brother, and while that had cheered him up, it made the emptiness of his little terrace house on Denny Street even worse when he came home. Also, Inverness in December was even more depressing when you just left a house filled with happy memories. 

And now he was back, in the cold, depressing north of Scotland, and wondered how he could make his life better. He could go out of course, try to pick someone up, but it all didn’t seem to be worth the effort. 

And maybe, the breakup with Alex and what happened after had affected him deeper than he cared to admit. His mother had asked him about it, and confronted with his feelings, he realised he hadn’t gotten over it as easily as he had wanted to make himself believe. 

Not that a breakup was something life-destroying as such. The fact that Alex had been shot down two months later when they had still been trying to figure out if they were friends now, friends with benefits, or should attempt to fix things – that had thrown Agron off track. 

It had been almost a year ago now, and while Agron was mostly over it, the fact that he still had no desire to find someone else told him more than he wanted to know. Not that he still loved Alex, though he still missed him, but that he wasn’t ready for another commitment. And the risk.

Rather than focussing on himself now he thought of the young homeless man he had met a few days prior of his trip to Kent. For some reason he had mentioned the event to his family during dinner the first evening, and also told them he had no idea why the young man had affected him so much. He had met his fair share of homeless beggars in his life, in front of train stations and malls, or just sitting somewhere on the sidewalk. He had never felt the urge to do any more than drop a coin into the bowl or hat or whatever, or sometimes offer to buy some dog food, which had usually been the cause for even greater gratitude. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have bought him the food, or just bought him a sandwich or something and sent him on his way again, but that _something_ that didn’t leave him be had been the reason he had offered that in the first place. 

His brother had teased him about love on first sight, clutching his heart and fluttering his eyelids. Agron had half-heartedly snarked back, not because of what Duro had said but because of the fact that he had much more patience for his brother since he had been brought home more dead than alive, not so long after Alex had been killed. 

His mother had simply stated that Agron had too good a heart to be a soldier anyway, not hiding her opinion on both her sons having pursued a career similar to the one that had robbed her of her husband far too early and had left her younger son maimed for life. 

But she had also given Agron a piece of her needlework, a knitted scarf made from various leftover yarns which looked almost too cheerfully coloured for such a grey day. Agron had stuffed it into his pocket when leaving the house and wondered if he would even manage to find Nasir again. Inverness wasn’t a large city, but it wasn’t a village either.

Eventually, Agron found himself back on the same bench at the Ness Banks as a week ago, the day he had met Nasir, doing the same thing: Smoking and wondering what his life had become. 

Yet his hopes of the young Syrian tracking the same steps that day did not became true. In the end, after three cigarettes, Agron headed home and even took a detour via the shopping mall, in the slim hope that he might hang out there. He didn’t, and Agron went home feeling strangely disappointed. He would maybe try to convince himself that it was because of the scarf his mother had made, but it was several levels of pointless to lie to himself like that. But what exactly it was, still wasn’t clear to him. 

He left the scarf in his pocket however, and the bulge there kept reminding him of someone who had an even harder lot in life than he had, a lot harder. And again and again, Agron wished he could make it better. He had no idea what the young man had done to him, but he couldn’t get him out of his head. 

At least the quest of the scarf did get him out of the house every day. Maybe the fresh air would counteract some of the damage he did to himself with those fucking cigarettes he couldn’t get rid of, and maybe he would become immune to the permanent Scottish drizzle at one point. Maybe he could also learn to breathe water.

With Christmas approaching the streets were still bustling with shoppers much later than usual, and the mall was packed every time Agron passed it. He only entered to either hide from the weather or to get himself a decent cup of coffee as a treat, other than that he stayed well away from that ant heap of stressed-out shoppers.

It was another such day when he was on his way home and decided he wanted a coffee not at home, and as he changed directions towards Eastgate he wondered if he would ever get rid of the scarf in his pocket again. 

He patted his pocket one last time and decided that he’d get his coffee, and after that, would take a detour and drop the scarf off in the nearest charity shop. He had tried. He had carried the bloody thing around with him for two weeks now. 

It was almost amusing that precisely on this day, he spotted a familiar figure hanging out on the plaza in front of the main entrance of the shopping centre. Nasir had spotted him too, but his look was wary again, and Agron wiped the grin off his face he had felt spreading there. 

“Hey,” he said after he had reached the young man. “How’s it going?”

Which probably wasn’t the most clever thing to say to a homeless person, so he cleared his throat when Nasir shrugged with a frown, and dug into his pocket. 

“I know that sounds weird...” he tried again, and toyed with the end of the scarf. “When I was visiting my folks the other day I happened to mention you, and my mum…” He hesitated and tried to smile; Nasir was narrowing his eyes in distrust. “My mum has a huge and generous heart, and she made this and told me to give it to you if I run into you again.”

He pulled the scarf out of his pocket and held it out to Nasir who looked at it as if he had never seen such a thing. Which he probably hadn’t; the almost five foot long monstrosity made from at least ten different types of yarn looked like it belonged into a modern art exhibition. 

Nasir tilted his head, his frown turning into an expression of utter confusion. Then he looked at Agron again. “She made this? For me?”

Agron nodded and held it out again. “Yes.”

After taking a deep breath, Nasir reached out, very slowly and hesitantly, and touched the scarf with fingers that Agron couldn’t help but notice were hopelessly grimy. Then, when Agron held out his hand again with another smile, he hesitantly took it. 

A wondrous smile appeared on the young man’s haggard features, and it transformed his whole face. Suddenly he looked like the handsome man Agron had imagined him as, the man he should be, had the right to be, and he wanted to help him more than ever.

Nasir was still smiling when he wrapped the scarf around his neck, and again, and even a third time. 

“It’s… it’s great.” He swallowed and looked around, suddenly nervous again. “Thank you. And your mum. It’s… it’s great.”

He toyed with one end of the scarf, bright orange and slightly fuzzy, a harsh contrast to the pale and dirty fingers. 

“I tell her you like it,” Agron said and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Um,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know but… do you need food?”

Nasir’s face hardened, though not nearly as much as it had last time. “I… thank you, but…” He looked around again. “I’m actually waiting for someone.”

“Oh, no worries.” Agron held on to his smile. “But honestly, the offer with Batiatus still stands. I get it,” he quickly added when Nasir’s eyebrows lowered again. “I’m just saying.”

Nasir opened his mouth, but then he looked past Agron and took a step aside. 

Agron stepped into the other direction, and saw a man with dark skin walk purposefully into Nasir’s direction. 

“Take care,” Agron said and left. 

Nasir just nodded and waved at the other man, and Agron turned around and headed for the entrance. 

He couldn’t help it; he turned around again a moment later, for whatever reason, just to see the two men embrace and kiss, and he was suddenly gritting his teeth. It felt too much like jealousy and it confused him even more than the urge to help a young man he knew nothing about. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Having reached the door he turned around again, and saw the two walk across the plaza, towards the station, arm in arm and kissing very passionately. But he also noticed how the dark-skinned man slipped a hand under Nasir’s jacket. He wasn’t sure, but there might have been something that had changed ownership. 

Agron wasn’t a cop, and neither did he watch detective stories or the likes, but for some reason he was wondering if he had just witnessed something illegal, or at least of a very shady nature. The two stopped kissing and together, vanished around the corner, and Agron was bumped into by a pair of girls because he was more or less blocking the door. He stepped away from the door again with an apology and narrowed his eyes. Something felt so off he felt his skin crawl.

As he made his way home, puzzlement slowly gave way to frustration which then turned to anger, and now Agron slammed the door shut behind him, kicked off his shoes so hard they bounced off the wall, one after the other, and he dropped his coat and scarf right where he stood. 

He was seething. 

Stomping up the stairs towards the bathroom he kept trying to tell himself he had no idea what was wrong with him, but he knew he was lying. 

He knew exactly what was wrong with him. 

Nasir. He had a lover. He had kissed that handsome dark man. 

“FUCK!”

Agron didn’t even know what he was doing, he had the soap dispenser in his hand before he was consciously aware of it, and he threw it against the wall with a scream of fury. The cheap plastic shattered upon the impact with the tiles, and soap splashed across the wall and floor. 

It took him a while to calm his breathing, and he didn't even bother to clean up his mess when he left the bathroom again. 

He didn’t want to face the fact that he hadn’t had an outbreak of fury like this since he had been a teen. And it was frighteningly confusing why watching Nasir kiss another guy was making him so jealous. He had no claim on the man. He hardly knew him at all. 

Agron fell onto the bed and buried his face in his hands with a groan.

He sat there for about half an hour before he got restless, and he went downstairs again because he needed food. Not that he was hungry, but it was past dinnertime and he should eat something. 

The fridge yielded no inspiration. In the end he grabbed the milk and the cereals and fell down into the nearest chair, shoveling Malt Wheats into his face as if they were his mortal enemy. 

Dropping the empty bowl into the sink he stared at it for a while, and then he headed back towards the door. Yet instead of hanging up his coat he put it on again, and after getting into his shoes, left the house again because he was too restless to sit anywhere, not to speak of going to bed. 

The night was cold and his breath fogged before him as he walked, not caring where he was going.

He didn’t look for Nasir and the other man, though. It was pointless, and it wasn’t his business, and even if it had been something like a drug deal or the like, there was nothing he could do save go to the police, give descriptions, and get Nasir into several shitloads of trouble. Even worse so if he had been just imagining things.

His wish to help the young man out of that existence grew stronger with every step, but things didn’t work that way. He wasn’t a knight in shining armour. But even if he would find a way to help him, Nasir would have to accept it, as well. 

But what that would be… Agron had no idea. He wasn’t a social worker, and a bit of googling that evening didn’t yield anything satisfactorily either. 

He slept fitful that night, what little sleep he found filled with disturbing dreams he couldn’t remember but that left him with an unease he couldn’t explain, and aches in places where it didn’t make sense, as if his body remembered old injuries that he had never had.


	3. Chapter 3

To say Nasir was baffled about the scarf was an understatement. He had literally no idea what to say or even how to feel about it, and the slight feeling of wistfulness hurt too much to allow it, so he stomped on it to kill it in the bud. 

The man – Agron if he remembered the name correctly, not that it mattered – had puzzled him from the very beginning. Cool, friendly, kind, generous, that had been his first impression, and Nasir had rarely been wrong with his initial judgement of people.

The food had been offered freely too, something that had puzzled Nasir again. Agron’s generosity had been completely selfless, or if he had an ulterior motive, then Nasir hadn’t been able to figure it out yet. It wasn’t sex, Nasir had already established as much. So he couldn’t even say he was a client, and he had no reason whatsoever to be thinking so much about that man.

Sentimentality, attraction, or anything like it, only meant trouble, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by a dimpled smile and shining green eyes. Boyish dreams were useless and dangerous in a life like his.

And yet, it was getting harder every day to stop thinking about him. From the moment outside the chippie, when he had suddenly and by sheer accident looked into those eyes, something about Agron didn’t let him go. And Agron had looked a little weird too, and it all _didn’t make sense._

The scarf didn’t make much sense either. Nasir was so confused by the offer that he only listened with half an ear about the explanation of how it had come to him, but the winter was cold and he was freezing all the bloody time and had no pride to spare to refuse a gift like that. 

The thing was fuck-ugly, but it was warm. 

Well, to be honest, it wasn’t even ugly. Nasir quite liked the colours and different yarns, something useful put together from bits and bobs that had been completely useless on their own. And deep, deep inside, Nasir wanted to be like that scarf, put himself together again from the fragments he remembered, and be something else, something useful. 

He hadn’t felt like this since he had run away all those years ago. 

Nasir was saved from further venturing into dangerous territory by the arrival of Castus, and he only too happily fell back into his comfort zone where he knew the rules and how to act and think. 

The kiss was warm, not overly enthusiastic but familiar and pleasant enough. Castus was a handsome man, and they had had sex a few times, and they got along well enough that they could be called friends with benefits. Primarily though they were business partners, both as couriers for their bosses. 

“I got the stuff,” Nasir said to Castus as they walked towards the station arm in arm. “But it’s not as much as Crassus said Heracleo wants.”   
“Fuck,” Castus said with a groan. “Why?”  
“Fuck if I know,” Nasir replied. “Glaber doesn’t tell me shit, and neither does that fuckturd Ashur.”

They had rounded the corner and were now out of sight in the darkness between train station and the Eastgate building. 

“Did Crassus say how much it’s worth?” Castus asked under his breath as he cautiously pushed Nasir into the dirty concrete wall at his back.   
“No,” Nasir replied equally softly, gritting his teeth. “I thought he’d told Heracleo and he sends you with the right sum!”  
“He didn’t,” Castus said. “He waits for three thousand worth of snow.”  
“I don’t even know how much it is,” Nasir gave back and reached into his jacket. 

He had to push one end of the scarf aside to do so, and Castus picked up that end with a snort. 

“What is that even?”  
“A scarf,” Nasir replied tersely. “An old lady made it for me and it’s warm.”  
“How do you get to meet old ladies who knit for you?”

Nasir rolled his eyes and had no idea how he could get Castus to drop the matter. Then he decided he’d settle for the truth. He had learned early on that lies could get you into greater trouble as they could always be used against you.

“Okay, so I met this guy and asked him for a bit of change and he offered to buy me some food, and he took me to a chippie, and when I wanted to follow him because I thought he would want sex-”  
“He didn’t?” Castus interrupted him.   
“He didn’t. He’s just a goody-two-shoe.” Nasir shrugged. It was easier to put it like that. “And apparently he told his mum about me, fuck if I know why, and she made it.”

Castus looked at Nasir as if he had sprouted a second head.

“Don’t ask me! He just showed up and pulled the thing out of his pocket and told me his mum made it for me!”  
“Okaaay…” Castus snorted and then he held out his hand. 

Shaking his head, Nasir reached into his pocket and produced a small envelope. Castus took it and looked inside, and at the plastic bag with white powder.

“That’s all?”  
Nasir shrugged. “That’s all Ashur had for me.”  
“Wouldn’t surprise me if that fucktart kept half of it to himself and is going to blame you for it.”

Nasir hadn’t thought along those lines; he worked for Crassus and Glaber was just one of Crassus’ men, and Ashur one of Glaber’s dogs. But it made too much sense, frighteningly so. Glaber was an ambitious shithead and if Ashur double-crossed everyone and their mother, it wouldn’t have surprised him.

“Hey.” Castus took Nasir’s chin and lifted his head. Nasir hadn’t even realised he had begun to hunch. “Let’s not cry wolf, okay? Maybe Glaber fucked up and gets it from Crassus.”  
“If it’s about believing his man Glaber or a boy who sucks his men’s cocks I don’t have to make bets on who he will believe,” Nasir replied. “More likely it’s been Ashur who tries to fuck with me. Fuck.”

After a moment of silence, Castus cleared his throat.

“It’s like, how much? About half of what you had last time, right?” He sucked at his lower lip. “If I give you half the money-”  
“Then we’re both fucked,” Nasir cut in. “Because then Crassus and Heracleo will think that the two of us are trying to hoodwink them. No,” he went on, slow and heavy. “I don’t want to get you into shit too.”  
“And don’t you think I’m not already in shit now when things don’t add up? I get back to Heracleo like that with the money gone and only half the stuff, he’s gonna have my balls and then my head.” Castus spat out next to his feet. “And if he doesn’t go to Crassus and complain, he says I took what’s missing, or he goes to Crassus and then it falls back on you and on me because we work together. We’re both fucked either way.”

“Fuck.” Nasir let his head drop back with a groan. “What are we going to do now?”  
“Fuck if I know,” Castus now said too. 

The two of them exchanged a look of despair. 

“We’re being framed, right?” Nasir asked after a moment. “They’re gonna get rid of us.”  
“Fuck if I know,” Castus said again. “Or you’re the one being framed and I’m just collateral damage.”

Nasir swallowed hard and for some reason, looked up and into the direction they had come from. The plaza in front of the Eastgate centre. Where he had met Agron. Unconsciously he picked up the end of the scarf and rolled it between his fingers. But Agron wouldn’t be able to help him. No one could. 

Both Castus and Nasir were fucked now. Castus could either give the whole sum of money for half the amount of snow and be fucked, or only pay half the amount of money and go back to his boss with the snow and the rest of the cash. And there was little chance that Heracleo would believe him, because Glaber would tell him he had given Nasir the agreed upon amount. So both of them could be accused of having either taken the money, the snow, or both.

They both were trapped . Accused of stealing money from Heracleo and snow from Crassus. 

“Fuck,” Nasir said then and took the envelope with the cash. “Take the snow, and take half of the money back. You got a better chance of Heracleo believing you the truth and I with Crassus.”  
“And what is gonna happen to you?” Castus asked, eyes wide.  
Nasir shrugged. “Maybe I can talk my way out of that one. Maybe not.”

And maybe it didn’t matter. Nasir had had enough of this life for a long time now, but after getting involved with Crassus and his gang he was stuck. He had been fucked before, now he was extra fucked. 

Castus was clearly uncomfortable with Nasir getting into such a precarious situation, but he couldn’t do much else either. They weren’t lovers, there were no stars in their eyes when they looked at each other, there was no reason they would die for each other. At least Castus might be able to save his own arse. 

“Hey,” Castus said after pocketing his envelope again. “Wanna come over to my place?”

Nasir looked up at him again. Castus actually had a place to live, together with a few other guys from Heracleo’s gang. So when Castus and Nasir were after a fuck, that was where they went, a small room hardly more than a broom closet, with an old mattress on the ground, a threadbare blanket, and lumpy pillow. But it had a door, and Castus always had lube and condoms. 

So far, Nasir had rarely declined an invitation. But today he found himself more put off than anything else. He had always been comfortable with Castus, his body, and his dick, but now he could only shake his head.

“I guess Glaber is on your mind more than anything else,” Castus replied softly. 

Nasir shrugged. He didn’t feel like correcting him. And how could he? How could he explain to Castus that what put him off sex wasn’t the thought of Glaber, but a pair of green eyes giving him a hurt and judgemental look? He couldn’t even explain that to himself. And it was driving him mad.

Castus clapped his shoulder now and nodded as he turned away. “Good luck. If I was a religious man I’d pray for you.”  
“Wasted breath.” Nasir tugged the scarf around his head. “If there’s a god then he’s been pissing on me for the last ten years.”

After a moment, Castus nodded again and left. 

Nasir stared after him, and a heavy feeling of cold dread began to pool in his stomach. He had to go to Glaber, and he had to do it now. He had never dealt with Crassus in person and he knew that the man would never associate with guys like him, a piece of garbage living on the streets, living off money from drug running and selling his body. That’s what he had men like Glaber for. And Ashur. Nasir shuddered at the thought. 

He adjusted his backpack and headed towards the plaza. 

“Fuck you, you stupid shit,” he muttered to himself when he realised he was looking around, as if scanning the crowd for someone. Agron couldn’t help him. And he sure as fuck didn’t want to involve Agron in this anyway. Agron shouldn’t get mired in all this shit just because of a random act of kindness.

Glaber. Glaber was his only concern now. If he wanted to live to see another day, he needed to sort things out with him. Maybe he could strike some sort of bargain with him. 

On the other hand it might be easier to steal a bottle of vodka, get himself stone drunk and jump into the Moray Firth.

* * *

Nasir spent the rest of the day trekking from one place to the other in search of Glaber, with no success. It was shortly after midnight when he ended up at Castus’ place after all because no one had been in the house on Church Street where he used to hang out. He didn’t have a key, and without the goodwill of the others, he couldn’t get in there. 

Castus wasn’t around either, however, and Nasir could only hope that Heracleo wouldn’t bite his head off, as Glaber sure would do with him if he didn’t hurry the fuck up. So without alternative, Nasir huddled against the concrete wall at his back, his last resort taking shelter from the rain under the bridge where the A82 crossed the Ness, and he listened to the rain with closed eyes. 

It was freaking cold; it was December, and the bridge provided only shelter from the rain, not the icy wind. He spent a sleepless night there under the bridge, and the next morning he continued his search for Glaber. 

He found only Ashur, and he knew he was fucked. 

“What would you need Glaber for, little dog?”  
“It’s none of your business.” Nasir tried to look defiant.   
“You fucked up the transfer, didn’t you?”  
“I fucked up nothing,” Nasir hissed back. “There wasn’t the agreed upon amount of snow and-”  
“Uh-Oh,” Ashur cut in with mock-worry in his voice. “Glaber’s not going to like that.”  
“I didn’t take it!” Nasir knew how pathetic he sounded.  
“And he is going to believe that why?” Ashur flashed his unpleasant, oily grin. “After last week? When you said you wanted to get out of here?”

Nasir stared at him and his grin for a heartbeat. “You bastard,” he whispered after moment. “You framed me.”

Ashur chuckled, a disgusting sound. “Says who? The boywhore that no one wants anymore because he’s too old? What do you take nowadays for a fuck? Can’t be more than twenty quid. Just imagine,” Ashur lifted his arms as if to summon a grand picture of an even grander future, “just imagine what could be done with fifteen hundred worth of snow...”

“I didn’t take it,” Nasir pressed out through gritted teeth, although he knew it was pointless. He adjusted his backpack with a snarl and spun around. 

“Glaber won’t be pleased!” Ashur called after him, and Nasir could just about bring himself to care enough to flip him off. 

He was so fucked. It was over.


	4. Chapter 4

The weather was fine the next day for a Scottish winter day, and Agron left Inverness late in the morning, just to get out and see something else. For some reason, as so often when he was in a mood like this, his way led him to Culloden. He didn’t know why, but the old battlefield, despite being a site of utter and complete defeat, drew him when he felt like this. Lonely, confused, and frustrated. 

He locked the car and climbed up the small rampart that separated the parking lot from the battlefield site, and stared across the moor. Imagining groups of screaming warriors, charging and being shot down again, or cut down by sword, rapier, or bayonet, the bodies littering the ground stained red by blood, was always frighteningly easy. Agron himself had never seen a real battle like that; he was a pilot and not part of the ground forces risking bullets in direct combat, so he had no idea why this was the first thing his thoughts always turned to. 

The entry fee to the museum was moderate, but Agron spent little time inside and just headed out again to the battlefield proper. Nowadays there were paths laid into the moors that back then had only been spongy ground and heather. 

Closing his eyes he could almost hear it, the charging of warriors, the clanging of steel on steel, the screams and moans of the dying. He could almost smell sweat and leather and blood, and kicked-up earth made his throat go dry. 

It just fucking _didn’t make sense._

He was standing on a moor. And what didn’t feature in his... thoughts – he refused to call them visions even if it felt like it – were the roaring of cannons and the musket shots. And for some reason, on this day these images were more vivid than they had ever been before.

He walked past the memorial stones of all the clans placed along the paths for almost an hour, until he was cold enough from the merciless winds blowing over the moors that he headed back inside the museum, where he treated himself to some pie and coffee in the cafeteria before he headed home again. 

After a long, satisfying hot shower he dressed again in thick socks, old and worn sweatpants, and a hoodie, since he had no plans to leave the house again. And then he made more coffee and settled down in front of the TV. He didn’t find anything interesting but kept watching anyway, a re-run of an old series from the nineties that he couldn’t remember watching, the news, and even ads, just to not think too much. 

It got worse. 

BBC Scotland had an oldie night, with movies from the fifties to the seventies, and after half-heartedly watching Dr Zhivago, he made himself a sandwich for dinner and returned to the TV to find a history drama running. It captured him to the extent that he forgot to eat. 

It also gave him the creeps. He couldn’t look away though. But it wasn’t Kirk Douglas’ performance that grabbed him, it was the movie in itself. 

Agron watched Spartacus break free of bondage, amass an army, and engage Rome, watched him fail after almost claiming the ultimate victory. His head began to hurt but he couldn’t look away. 

_“I am Spartacus!”_

Agron dropped the plate, stormed out of the living room and grabbed his coat while slipping into his trainers. He all but ran out of the house. He needed air. He couldn’t breathe. 

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Suddenly he couldn’t stand being alone, and he ended up at McDonald’s with a paper cup of rather mediocre coffee, together with another few lost souls who were hanging out at this place at one a.m. A group of teenage girls entered and the noise level rose considerably, but Agron didn’t mind, not this time. He kept sipping his coffee and stared at nothing. 

The sounds of battle still hadn’t faded from his mind, and even the high pitched scream-giggles of the teenagers couldn’t drown them out. Agron briefly wondered if he needed professional help, but firmly pushed the thought aside. He had recently spoken to his brother whom he had almost lost to bullets and shrapnel, and he was a soldier himself even if he didn’t fight on the ground. And now he had spent some hours on Culloden battlefield and on top of everything else had watched a movie about war, even if the war had been fought a few decades B.C. All that just blended together in his tired brain. 

Eventually Agron left again, yet didn’t head home directly; instead he walked down Bank Street and crossed the Ness, and then back down Huntly Street. 

It was where Huntly Street met the A82 crossing the river that he found a sheet of printed paper drifting in the wind, and he stepped on it and picked it up. But it wasn’t words. At least not words he recognised, he realised after a moment, because the script was Arabic. Another sheet blew by and Agron managed to catch that one as well, and that, too, was covered in Arabic writing. 

Frowning, Agron continued, and collected four more sheets with Arabic writing, but as far as he was able to tell, it wasn’t the same text. It took him another moment to realise that he was looking at pages that had been torn out of a book. Another few sheets were scattered among the grass of the banks down to the Ness, and he picked all those up, following the pedestrian path that ran below the bridge. 

He didn’t even know why he was picking up those pages, but he did it anyway. It was only a few more steps before he finally found the book those pages belonged to; it was lying face down on the ground, a few more loose sheets scattered around it. Agron picked it up, together with the sheets, and looked at the book, but was left none the wiser. The cover was just an intricate but abstract oriental design. He leafed through a few pages more, and wondered if it was maybe a Qur’an he was looking at. 

At the very back of the book he found a laminated picture of a family, a couple and two boys. The picture was clearly not taken anywhere in Europe, and the four of them were smiling brightly at the camera. 

Agron stared at the picture with a frown when something at the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He looked up again and saw that a few steps ahead, something bulky was lying there as well. Something cold crept down his spine as he got closer, and recognised it as an old, worn backpack. 

“Shit...” 

He had seen such a backpack before, and he broke into a run. He grabbed another picture that the wind was blowing past, and a quick glance told him that it were the same two boys as on the other picture, but older and without their parents. They weren’t smiling either. 

Agron had reached the bridge and if he had refused to acknowledge the facts until now, he couldn’t deny it any longer as the next item he found was a huge, knitted scarf made from all sorts of yarn. And there, at the very edge where the bridge met the ground, he saw the form of a man huddled against the concrete at his back. 

Agron stumbled to a halt and went down into a crouch before him. 

“Nasir?” He asked softly, hesitantly, and reached out to take the young man’s chin to lift his head. 

Nasir looked up at him, one lip split and smears of blood on his chin, and his left eye under a split eyebrow was swollen almost shut. His jacket was torn and on the ground a few steps away, and he was shaking. 

“Shit...” Agron didn’t let go of Nasir’s chin as he looked him over. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Which was a rather stupid question to ask, as it was bloody obvious he had been beaten up badly, and whoever had done it had also spilled the contents of his backpack – a few pieces of clothing and a bag of chocolate cookies that looked as if someone had stepped on it – and even torn up the book. 

“Don’t call an ambulance,” Nasir whispered in a scratchy voice. “Please don’t call an ambulance.”

Agron could understand; an ambulance and admittance to the hospital in that state would get the police involved. But he couldn’t just leave him like that. He quickly shrugged off his coat and draped it across Nasir’s shoulders. 

“Stay here,” he said firmly. “Don’t move. I get my car, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. And no,” he went on when he saw fear and defiance rise in Nasir’s eyes, “no, I won’t take you to the hospital, but there’s not a fucking chance I’ll leave you here like that.”

With that he straightened up again and gathered the pack, stuffed the book inside and dropped it again next to Nasir who grabbed it and pressed it to his chest as if it was the most precious thing in the world. 

Agron just gave him a nod, and set off in a run. 

He ran as fast as he could, and didn’t even bother to enter his house again to grab another jacket; he just fell into his car and backed out of his driveway while fastening his seatbelt. He drove down Huntly Street as fast as he dared and as far as he could, and to his relief Nasir was still sitting there where he had left him, hunched over and wrapped in Agron’s coat. 

“Come on,” he said as he had reached Nasir’s huddled form, and offered him a hand up. Nasir was reluctant, but eventually took the hand and let himself be pulled onto his feet. He was still clutching the backpack to his chest with the other hand, and he walked slow, still hunched over, and almost lost his balance when he tried to pick up the scarf. Agron grabbed his shoulders and picked up the scarf and the jacket himself, and took Nasir’s elbow to guide him to the car. 

“I’m taking you home for now,” he said as he started the engine. “No hospital, no police. Is that okay?”

Nasir nodded mutely, clutching his backpack. Agron wasn’t sure in this light, but his cheeks could have been wet, or it could have been the flashes of the street lamps.   
Nasir followed him without protest after leaving the car, but remained rooted to the spot after Agron had closed the door behind them. 

“Right,” Agron said and ran both hands through his hair. “I don’t... I probably don’t want to know what happened. But are you sure you don’t want to get the police involved so whoever did this can be-”  
“No!” Nasir shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, it’ll get me into more trouble than it’s worth. I...” He licked his lips. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here. I better-”  
“Come on,” Agron interrupted him. “I know you don’t like... accepting charity, and I get it but please... let me check you over, or at least feed you, and you can also take a shower if you want.”

Nasir looked at him as if he wasn’t sure that Agron wasn’t a psychopath, but after a moment he relaxed the tiniest bit and nodded. 

“Come on then,” Agron said with a twitch of his head towards the stairs. “I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

Nasir finally let go of the backpack and handed Agron the coat, and followed him upstairs. He sat down on the closed toilet as Agron opened the box with the first aid supplies, but kept staring at his feet. 

“Why are you doing this?” He muttered after a moment.   
“Because I can’t just ignore the fact that I ran into you after you’ve been beaten up like that,” Agron replied and poured some disinfectant onto a piece of gauze. “Can you look at me?”

Nasir looked up, and Agron took Nasir’s chin again to steady his head before cautiously dabbing at the cut of his eyebrow. Nasir hissed with gritted teeth, but didn’t move. 

“Anywhere else?”  
Nasir shook his head. “They just kicked me and beat me. Guess I’m going to piss blood for a few days.”

Agron wanted to say that he really should see a doctor, but Nasir didn’t want to hear that so he didn’t, and asked instead if Nasir wanted a shower. But the latter just shook his head and looked at his feet again. 

“Come on,” Agron said. “I’m not going to steal your stuff or...” he shrugged, “be a perv about it or something.”  
“It’s not that,” Nasir said and didn’t look up. “I just don’t have any clean clothes.”

That was something Agron could understand. You didn’t want to get out of a nice, warm shower feeling all clean and fresh and then put on old, dirty and sweaty clothing. Despite the situation, the thought of Nasir borrowing some of his clothes had some comedy value, with their size difference. He gave Nasir a crooked grin. 

“I know it’s going to look ridiculous, but you could borrow some of my stuff while I give yours a wash.”  
Nasir shook his head again, his lips a thin line. “I’d... no, I’d rather just go.”  
Agron sighed but didn’t try to persuade Nasir otherwise and just disposed of the gauze. “Will you at least let me feed you?”

He saw how Nasir fought with himself for a moment, but then he nodded, and they headed downstairs again where Agron told him to sit down. 

“I don’t have much in terms of warm food, is frozen pizza okay?”  
Nasir looked up, a lopsided smile on his face. “As long as I don’t have to eat it frozen.”

Agron snorted and grinned brightly. It was strangely uplifting to see Nasir smile, no matter how faintly. He switched on the oven and grabbed two cans of beer from the fridge before sitting down himself while the oven heated up. He handed Nasir one can and opened his own. 

“Thanks.” Nasir opened his and took a sip. “Like... thank you. For everything.”  
“No worries.” Agron pushed his can to the side and folded his arms onto the table. “Say... I know it’s not my business, but why did-”  
“It _is_ none of your business,” Nasir cut in, but then he sighed. “Sorry, but you can’t help. I fucked up, and... actually, I’m pretty sure I was framed, but I can’t prove it, and now I owe someone important a lot of money, and I’m fucked.”

Agron sighed and leaned back again, then grabbed his beer and took a sip. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while until the oven was ready, and Agron got up to get a pizza out of the freezer. 

“How much?” He finally brought himself to ask.  
“Not your business,” Nasir replied sharply.  
“I just want to help!” Agron almost slammed the oven door shut.  
“Why?!” Nasir stared at him with wide eyes, or as much as the swollen eye would open anyway.   
“I don’t fucking know!” Agron sighed heavily and combed his fingers through his hair. “I just... do,” he ended lamely.” Then he looked at Nasir and saw the guarded look in his eyes. “And not because I want to fuck you,” he added, just for clarification.

Nasir just shrugged, as if to say that was how things usually went for him. 

Agron sat down again and poured almost half the can down his throat. He barely suppressed a belch and looked at Nasir again. 

“I don’t know why I want to help,” he said again. “It’s just so bloody obvious life is just being fucking unfair to you and I just...” He huffed. “I know how that sounds, but I just want to make it better.”  
“Why?” Nasir clutched his can. “I’m just a random hobo and you know sweet fuck all about me.”  
“I know your name,” Agron replied.

Nasir eyeballed him, but looked at the table again after a moment. “I really gotta go now,” he said then. “I don’t want to get into more trouble than I’m already in.”  
Agron narrowed his eyes. “And why would staying here over night get you into any more trouble?”  
“Because Ashur or one of his goons is probably shadowing me, and the only reason I walk into people’s houses is sex.” Nasir looked up again. “So it’s going to be difficult enough to explain why I was here without getting any money for it. I just... I can’t stay the night. I just can’t.”

Agron understood. He also had an idea what to do about it. 

“So how much do you usually get?” He asked calmly.  
Nasir’s face went strangely blank. “Twenty for a fuck, twenty for a blowjob, twenty-five if I have to swallow.”

Agron nodded and got up to get his wallet from his coat to see how much cash he had. He liked to pay with cash for most things, as it helped him to better keep track of where his money went. He took two fifty pound notes and put them on the table.

“Two blowjobs with swallowing and a fuck, and because I like it rough a sizeable tip because you’ve been such a good boy, is that enough for a whole night?”  
“I suppose,” Nasir said heavily and got up. 

Agron realised what he was thinking and put a hand on his shoulder to push him back into the chair. “You mistake my intent. I do not want to fuck you, I just want to help you out. You can stay the night in the spare bedroom. I just don’t want to get you into trouble because I wanted to help you.”

Nasir looked at the money, up at Agron, and back at the money again. “Why?”  
“We’ve been over that. The pizza should be done.”

Taking the pizza out of the oven made Agron think about his sandwich that was still scattered on the sofa, and remembering the movie that had triggered the whole thing, he didn’t realise he had just stopped moving.

Nasir’s voice tore him out of wherever the memories had thrown him. “You okay?”  
“What?” Agron shook his head. “Sure. Just lost in thought.”

Since sitting around watching Nasir eat would just make the other man uncomfortable Agron occupied himself with cleaning up his mess in the living room, trying to suppress the uncomfortable feelings the memories of the movie caused him. It was so fucked up it wasn’t even funny anymore. 

After the pizza Nasir actually let himself be talked into having a shower after all, and he looked as ridiculous as expected in one of Agron’s T-shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts, one with strings so he could tie it up to stop it from sliding down his hips. Agron told him to go to bed, and that he would stay up until the washing machine was done so he could chuck the clothes into the dryer for them to be ready in the morning. 

Nasir thanked him and vanished into the spare bedroom, and looked at him as if he was convinced Agron would want something for his money after all later on. Which he didn’t, of course. 

Agron was too restless however to go to sleep, and in the end stayed up until Nasir’s clothes were done. Then he went to bed, but didn’t find rest quite yet. When he heard the door to Nasir’s room somewhat later he didn’t think about it because he would only need the bathroom. 

Or so he had thought. Because the next morning, Nasir was gone, and all his things as well. Agron’s clothes were neatly folded on the bed, and one of the fifty pound notes was still lying on the table where he had put it last night. 

He fell into a chair and stared at it, gritting his teeth and with his hands curled into fists. 

When he was finally able to tear himself away from it he didn’t waste any more time; he packed a bag with clothes and toiletries, and another one with the perishables from the fridge. He chucked both into the boot of his car and was on his way to Kent long before noon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Frohe Weihnachten, Mama_ \- Happy Christmas, Mum  
>  _Weihnachten ist erst übermorgen_ \- Christmas is the day after tomorrow

Having grown up a Muslim, Christmas had never been an issue for Nasir. He had given any sort of religion up however, and Christmas meant as little to him as before. Or maybe not quite, as it was the time everyone gathered around family, had good food, and somehow, he wanted that too. Only, he had no family. Not anymore. And the few friends he had, had as little means to celebrate anything as he himself had. The religious part didn’t mean anything to him. But the social aspect... that hurt. He just didn’t want to admit it to anyone, not even himself, but Nasir was the one person Nasir couldn’t lie to.

So Nasir spent Christmas at Castus’ place, because he had to avoid Ashur who would have spat into his soup just to spite him even if he wouldn’t get anything out of it. Nasir had somehow convinced Glaber that he hadn’t stolen the snow and would pay him back somehow, but he knew he was running out of time. He would have gone to Glasgow or Aberdeen, as a street prostitute had better chance at getting clients there than in Inverness, but he couldn’t afford the ticket. Castus, who only had to deal with a fucked-up transfer, hadn’t faced any consequences as he had brought back all the money. Contrary to his worries, Heracleo had not bothered with blaming him.

Castus would have helped, he had said so and Nasir believed him, but he couldn’t scrape the money together for a ticket either. Trying to nick purses got him a bit of cash, but most people didn’t carry huge amounts of money around with them, and credit cards were of no use to him.

Nasir had to admit defeat. He was fucked. He would never get the money together until New Year’s Day, and Glaber would not be satisfied with an instalment.

He had failed, and Crassus didn’t tolerate failure. Of course, more than once Nasir had wished he had never run into Ashur, never believed him that he could have a place and be a part of something, more than just a little runaway. Because that’s all he was. A boy who had dropped out of school, ran away from his foster family, and had ended up living on the streets in a Scottish city because to his knowledge, Scotland was where they had taken his brother after they had been put into separate foster homes. Of course he had never found him, and he would never find him again.

New Year’s Eve came, and Nasir prepared himself for the inevitable.

But something reared its head, deep inside.

The burning urge to be something better. More. More than this. More than someone who was little more than a slave to Crassus and Glaber who used him for dirty work, as a whore to get money, toys for Glaber’s bitch who liked to watch him and his friends fuck, just for her amusement.

He wanted to be free. He wanted to fight. Be his own man. Have a fate of his own choosing.

But alone... alone he was doomed to croak it here, like this, somewhere in a dark corner of Inverness, and probably end up in the Moray Firth, classified as a homeless person, identity unknown, who had been drunk or drugged or both, and end up in a nameless grave.

_“I just want to help!”_

Nasir curled up tighter in the blanket he had borrowed from Castus because his jacket had been torn to shreds, that night Agron had found him under the bridge. And had wrapped Nasir in his coat. It had been warm. So warm. And it had smelled of Agron; Nasir remembered that smell vividly, still.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense Agron wanted to help him, and it didn’t make sense that Nasir craved his presence and that help, more and more with each passing day.

He didn’t want to get Agron into trouble, even though he guessed that he could handle any sort of trouble just fine. But to antagonize Glaber, and especially Crassus, would put him in danger. And Nasir didn’t want that, not for the life of him.

It would pretty much mean his life, though. Agron wasn’t the only person who cared; his friends Pietros and Chadara had offered their help, but what could a big man’s little fucktoy actually do? Castus cared, but couldn’t help him either. Agron cared, and he would be able to help. Nasir didn’t even know how, but Agron would help. He just knew.

Agron. Agron, whose green eyes had followed Nasir into his dreams more than once. And it fucking didn’t make any fucking sense. He didn’t know the man, so why did he feel that with him at his side, he could face any challenge life would throw at him? That he could help shoulder any weight until Nasir could do so alone?

Nasir didn’t know why and how, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaving his miserable shelter under the bridge. He adjusted the backpack and draped the blanket around him again, and stepped out into the open.

As soon as he did so he felt his stomach clench, because he was afraid of running into Ashur and his goons, but they were probably busy getting drunk somewhere celebrating New Year’s Eve. There were hardly any people out on the streets in this night, and the few that were, were too drunk to notice Nasir slinking through the shadows.

But when he finally reached Agron’s house, an abysmal sense of doom overcame him. The house was dark, and the car was not in the driveway. Agron wasn’t home. And fuck knows when he would be back. He might be our partying, or visiting friends or family for the holidays.

Closing his eyes, Nasir doubled over, but as he straightened up again he rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the narrow driveway. Maybe Agron would come back soon. But it was better to wait here, where the chance of Ashur showing up was significantly smaller. He was somewhat protected from the wind but not from the drizzle, and not from the cold, either. Huddling down between the wall and a wheelie bin Nasir closed his eyes, and tried to cling to the hope that Agron would come.

* * *

His childhood home had always had the welcoming warmth due to the love and caring of his mother, and this Christmas it was no different. There were decorations and a tree with baubles and candy canes and straw stars and little hand-made wooden figures, soldiers and angels and toys, things that were keepsakes from his mother’s childhood. Agron vividly remembered how he had played with those wooden figures as a child himself, and the memory made a tiny smile appear on his face.

Like the tree, everything else was a mix of German and British traditions; there were the traditional German Christmas cookies and goodies, but there were also Christmas crackers and paper crowns and stockings on the mantelpiece.

Their mother had always tried to give them a feeling for the German part of their heritage, and had struggled to teach them German too. But because his father had hardly spoken any German they had spoken English at home too, and while Agron could understand German well enough, he was less than fluent speaking it. And entering the house now he wondered if it was worth the effort of taking some courses to rectify this, even if just for the sake of his mother. He knew she missed her homeland sometimes, but stayed because this was the home of her sons and she didn’t want to leave them.

He didn’t know what had caused those thoughts, but his mind immediately went back to the two pictures he had found under the bridge in Inverness that day: a happy family, and two boys who looked as if they had forgotten how to smile.

Agron still had his family. He had his mother and his brother. His father had died years ago, when Agron had been a teenager and Duro still a boy, but they and their mother had done what they could to keep his memory alive. He also had several aunts and uncles on both sides of the Channel, and a few of his cousins were as close as good friends, like Lugo and Donar who were always up for a drink and a game of darts or pool when they were around.

The scent of vanilla cookies and coffee greeted him as he stepped through the door, and he gave his mother the hug of the century.

He gave it all he had. “Frohe Weihnachten, Mama,” he muttered, and his mother increased the pressure of her arms around him before stepping back.  
“Weihnachten ist erst übermorgen,” she said with a smile, but she did so with a wink.

Agron got settled in his old room which had changed little over the years. It was emptier of course, with almost all of his things gone, but he had left a few posters and pictures on the walls and a bit of knick-knack on the shelves, just for sentimental reasons. A few band posters that had began to fade a bit, pictures of him and Duro at several sports events, and one of his father flanked by his sons.

Agron looked at the picture for a long moment before he sat down on the bed. The thought of his mother being gone too, and Duro as well, the thought of being all alone in this world was absolutely unbearable, and he got up again to go downstairs for a coffee.

Duro was still walking with a limp, even months after he had left the hospital. It looked like he would do so for the rest of his life, but he was determined to not let that bring him down. He had been blown up and almost torn apart by a landmine, but had lived to tell the tale, after all. The one thing that had brought him down for a while was when his girlfriend of two years had left him because she couldn’t handle a ‘crippled’ boyfriend – Agron hated that word especially when Duro used it himself – but Agron knew that his brother was better off without her. Her staying out of pity would have made it worse.

“When is your vacation over?” His mother asked, trying to sound casual, as she put a large plate with cookies onto the table.  
“Too soon,” Agron replied and took one. “In January already.”

His mother said nothing, but Agron knew what she was thinking. They had been over this a million times. She had never approved of her sons taking up a career in the military, a career that had robbed her of her husband, and now that she had almost lost Duro it had gotten worse.

And looking at his little brother who would have to spend the rest of his life with a prosthetic leg, and his mother who had been a widow for almost two decades now, Agron wondered, for the first time in his life, if he and his brother had made the right choice. The problem was that he had always been so set on this that he had no idea what else to do.

“You’re away with the fairies,” his mother suddenly said, and Agron looked up and realised he still had the cookie in his hand.  
He shrugged and shook his head. “I just... lost in thought.”  
“You don’t say,” Duro said and shoved another cookie into his mouth.  
But his mother reached out and took one of his hands. “What’s wrong?” She asked gently.

“I don’t really know,” Agron replied after a moment. “I mean, I... sort of do, but I can’t really...sort myself.”  
His mother looked at him in patient silence.  
“I mean... fuck.” He dropped the cookie. “I was thinking of family, you know?”  
“How so?” His mother asked.

And Agron took a deep breath and told them of Nasir again, and how he had found him and his things, and the trouble he was in, but in the end he came back to the two pictures.

“It’s just...” Agron sighed. “He’s totally alone in this world. His whole family is gone. I know he’s from Syria, and... I mean if he still had his family he wouldn’t live on the streets, would he?”  
“Probably not,” his mother replied. “But you don’t know what happened.”  
“No, I don’t.” Agron looked at the cookie. “But he’s still alone. And he’s in trouble.” Then he looked up. “And I want to help him so bad, but I just... I don’t know why... I never cared about any strange hobo like that.”

“Love on first sight,” Duro muttered around the cookie in his mouth.  
“Fuck off.”  
“Yeah then what else is it?” Duro swallowed and took another cookie. “You’re not a fucking social worker or a missionary, Aggie.”  
Agron could only shake his head. “Fuck if I know.”

Their mother looked back and forth between them and sighed. She had long since given up on asking them to mind their language.

“I guess you have to find a way to help him then,” she said.  
“And how can I do that when he doesn’t even trust me enough to stay a single night at my place?”  
His mother shrugged. “Maybe it’s not trust in you that’s the issue, but fear of other people. You mentioned the kind of trouble he’s in.”  
“But what can I do about it? I can’t very well go to the police now, can I?”  
“No.” She sighed and shook her head. “But there are charities that help homeless people.”  
“Also homeless people who are mired in the shit of gang war and drugs?”  
“You don’t know that, Agron.”  
Agron shrugged. “You don’t need to be a clairvoyant to know that it has to be something like that.”

“In that case the police might be able to do something,” Duro said slowly.  
“That would only have him end up in jail,” Agron replied darkly.  
“Yes,” his mother said. “But it would give him the chance for rehabilitation.”

Agron shook his head, but had no other idea either. He didn’t want Nasir to end up in jail, but maybe he could convince him to let Agron pay the debt that was scaring him so, and then he could help him find a place to live, and make a new start.

With the gang after him for the rest of his life because he was a risk, because he knew too much.

Agron went to bed late that night, but was unable to find sleep. He puttered around in his room, aimlessly opening drawers and doors, and ended up in front of the shelf with his Transformers collection. He picked up Optimus Prime and stared at the figure as if he might give him an answer, but the little toy remained stubbornly silent. Agron put him back and went to bed again, but it took him a long time to fall asleep.


End file.
